Control
by whyyesitscar
Summary: AU, oneshot. Naomi and Emily meet one day at work, Naomi's POV. Based off the song "Mirrors" by Natalia Kills. Pure smut.


**A/N: Backstory: vangoghgurrl gives me prompts on Twitter almost every day, little quotes or songs or things like that for me to use as inspiration to write things. Sometimes they're dirty. This came out of a prompt from the song "Mirrors" by Natalia Kills. It is dirty. You have been warned. (Also, if that isn't a reason for you to get a Twitter, I don't know what is). Enjoy.**

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><p>She finds you in the middle of the day when you really can't spare any time. (She always does; you told her to). All it takes is one stern look from the doorway and you're gone. You can protest all you want (and you do want to; that's the point), but you both know that you'll follow her and her red hair eventually.<p>

You politely excuse yourself from your meeting, pleading a work emergency, and trail her steps out the door, hanging back a few paces so you can fully appreciate the sway of her hips, the curve of her ass. It's the last bit of control you'll have for a while, and you always take full advantage of it. She knows that, but she pretends to let you have it anyway.

She steers the two of you into an abandoned bathroom, one that nobody ever uses. It's the only single bathroom, and it's always freaked you out a little bit. She knows that; it's why she always picks it. It's the only one that locks, too, which she commands you to do after you close the door. It makes your heart pound, the idea that you're not safe in a closed room. You live for the thrill.

"I thought I told you to wear heels today."

Your hand is still on the doorknob, as if you're going to run away any second. You're not. "Sorry, I—"

"Shut up. Take your shoes off. I hope you followed the rest of my rules."

"Yes." You kick your shoes off loudly; they clomp on the floor and come to a stop underneath the toilet.

She advances toward you, her eyes glinting dangerously. "Your little indiscretion will cost you, though." She slams you against the door, smirking as she roughly thrusts a hand upward between your legs. (You'd almost balked at the idea of going commando, but in the end you couldn't disobey her). Your mouth falls open and you shut your eyes tight, focusing your energy on keeping them closed instead of screaming. You get in trouble if you scream.

"Mmm, how fucking wet are you," she murmurs, her breath hot on your neck. "Been thinking about this all day?"

"No," you rasp.

She adds another finger and bites down on your shoulder. "I don't like it when you lie to me. You've been thinking about me all day, haven't you?"

You squirm under her touch; your knees are threatening to buckle. "Yes," you answer. It's more of a breath than a word.

"You were thinking about my fingers when Henson was pouring you coffee."

"Yes."

"You were thinking about me fucking you when you were typing up that motion. I saw you fidgeting." She pulls her fingers out, waiting for an answer.

"Yes," you cry, almost begging.

"You couldn't stop thinking about how I'd feel inside you. You wanted me since the moment you walked in the building." Every word is a thrust, a suck, a flick, and it drives you crazy. Your hand is still clenched on the doorknob, knuckles white and straining. Your chest is heaving and it's all you can do to even get one word out.

"Yes, yes, yes," you repeat, thrashing your head from side to side. She won't let you move anywhere else, but you're close, so close, and it doesn't matter. She's building you up, and it's terrible and so wonderful at the same time, and you can't wait for that moment when you don't know anything but stars and ecstasy. You want her to fuck you so hard you forget your own name, forget anything but the sweet death of release.

But it never comes. She leaves you grunting and unsatisfied, pulling her fingers out of you as quickly as she pushed them in. You clench your jaw and try to recover, but you know she's grinning as she watches your agony.

"Take off your clothes." You hesitate just a moment; you know she likes it when you put up a bit of a fight. She cocks her head in warning when you linger just a second too long; a thrill of fear bursts in your heart at her deadly gaze. It makes your fingers fumble over buttons, legs tangle in skirts until all of your clothes are lying in a crumpled heap on the dirty floor.

"On your knees, right here." She snaps her fingers and points to a spot by her feet; you scramble to get to it. "Take off my shoes and stockings—don't look." You slip off her heels, keep your eyes trained on hers as you feel your way up her legs. You finally find the hem of her stockings and peel them down; she steps daintily out of them when they get to her toes.

"Close your eyes." You obey her—you always will. A moment later you feel the mesh of nylon against your cheek; you smell the thick scent of her musk and it excites you even more. Her face is suddenly next to yours, and she is breathing in your ear, running her hands over your tits.

"Come find me," she whispers, and then she is gone.

You reach your hands out in front of you, but immediately there is a tug on your hair from behind.

"No, no," she scolds. "No hands."

You whip around and walk cautiously forward, not wanting to bump into her, but she has moved without a sound. You stop and strain your ears, listening for the slightest movement. You don't hear any, not even after you bump into the side of the stall. You switch tactics and take a deep breath instead, relying on your sense of smell. If she's going to act like prey, you will gladly be the hunter.

Minutes later you find her with bumping shoulders. She spins you in the right direction and crashes your lips together, attacking yours in a hungry kiss. She draws blood, and you want more.

"Pity," she mutters. "You didn't find me quick enough."

"I'm sorry." You're not.

"I guess you'll have to pay for this, too."

"Yes." Yes, _please_.

She marches you three steps forward and to your right; when she spins you around, your back collides with the cool porcelain of the sink.

"Put your hands over your head." When you do, you feel something metal click around your left wrist. Handcuffs. There is more clanking, metal against metal, and she clicks the other one around your right hand. You pull forward and realize that she has chained you to the water pipe. You couldn't get away if you wanted to (and you definitely don't want to).

She lifts your legs and sits you on the sink, spreading your knees apart. They're aching for her, but she kisses you instead. Her hands are pawing at your breasts, tugging at your nipples, and you all but melt against her mouth.

"Tell me that you want me," she breathes.

"I want you."

"Do you really?"

"No." She tugs at your left nipple, bites your right, and you scream involuntarily. You always did have a knack for getting in trouble.

"Why not?" She pinches your nipples harder for every second that you don't answer.

"Because," you pant. "Because I nee—I need you."

She sucks at the pulse point on your neck. "Where?"

"Everywhere."

"Where?"

"Inside me."

"Where?"

"My pussy!" you yell. "I need you to fuck me. I need—I need your tongue inside my pussy."

She smiles against your throat and gives it one last suck before kissing her way down your stomach. Your hips buck as she gets closer, and suddenly she is there, burying her face in you, her hands holding your legs in place. Your wrists strain against the handcuffs; you want to tangle your fingers in her hair. You want to wrap your legs around her back, but she holds them open. All you can do is squirm and jerk your head, breathing heavily as she laps at your folds. Her tongue is fire inside you, swirling deep, sucking at your clit. She licks the length of you, her tongue burning a trail. She licks you until you feel like your mind is going to explode.

And then her mouth is gone, replaced again by fingers, and is sucking at your tits. It's your weak spot; she knows that. She found it the first time, and she's made you pay for revealing yourself ever since. She sucks everywhere and you moan because that's exactly where you needed her. Her fingers curl upwards into you, finding places you didn't even know you had and blowing them to smithereens. Just when you think you can't take anymore, she adds another finger with a forceful thrust and tugs at your nipple with her teeth, and your mind is filled with fire and explosions. She continues her attack on you until your stomach muscles have stopped twitching and your throat is hoarse from screaming.

She takes the blindfold off and looks at you; you know she wants to fully take in the moment. You are handcuffed to a sink, body writhing and breathing ragged, blond hair stuck to your cheeks with sweat, and she loves it. She fucking loves it (and loves fucking it).

Her kiss is gentle this time, though she rakes her nails across your belly, prompting another muscle spasm and a skip of your heart. Her hands are cool as she unlocks the handcuffs, ice to the fire of your skin.

She kicks your clothes over to you before she opens the door.

"See you at lunch."


End file.
